


There's A Phrase That Fits

by flonkertons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exes, F/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: So the problem with not being with Bellamy Blake anymore was that she wished she still was and there wasn't really anything she could do about it, unless they were suddenly on the same page (or in the same country) again.The other problem was that wedding season was coming up and now she had to go to ten million weddings alone, and there was nothing like going to weddings in a small town without a plus one.Five weddings, two exes, and one chance to get it right.





	There's A Phrase That Fits

**Author's Note:**

> I mean. I guess this is a thing I wrote. 
> 
> I have very mixed feelings about this (usually veering towards I HATE IT) but I didn't want Tuesday to pass and inevitably endure another reason why Bellamy SUCKS LIKE HELL this season.
> 
> Minor (so minor) Bellamy/Echo, but she is absolutely a plot device so I'm not putting it in the tags.

There were two problems with breaking up with (or taking a break from) Bellamy Blake.

The first, obviously, was that Clarke missed him. They hadn't been together long, but they'd known each other forever, a decade and then some. They'd hated each other, then disliked each other, then begrudgingly teamed up for debate, won a state championship together, went to the semifinals at nationals together, then realized they were friends, rather than agreed to be friends. They'd kept in touch through college, as she went to the West Coast and he stayed in Arkadia, and found each other again when they attended the same grad school.

And throughout all of that, her longstanding, mostly dormant, always _there_ crush turned into a real _thing_ , awkward and uncomfortable and stifling and so much like _love_ that when she blurted it out, she really could say that she couldn't help herself. It was a miracle, though everyone else would roll their eyes and say it was only a matter of time because it was _so obvious_ and _for such good communicators, you're really bad at it_ , that he felt the same way.

Six and a half months later, they called it quits.

It'd been building up ever since Bellamy had taken the fellowship abroad. Long distance worked for the first two weeks and then it became harder and harder— their schedules clashed, the timezones never synced up well enough, not with her going back to school and him getting more involved in his work, and it was hard to maintain a relationship like that.

Whoever had initiated it had been lost in the tellings and retellings, so much that she didn't know herself, because most likely, it was a combination of the both of them. It was always the two of them. Together, they liked to say, because they believed in things like that. They'd made the decision together.

It's just a break, they both stated, but she wasn't under any delusions about what it really meant. A month long break turned into six, six into a year.

She knew what that really meant, but that didn’t mean she didn’t hold onto that hope that it would be better when he came back in a year because they were _Bellamy and Clarke_ and they would find their way back to each other. He didn't break his promises and she _missed_ him. She missed the way he held her hand, his thumb stroking her skin, his fingers interlocking with certainty. She missed the way he looked when he woke up, sleepy and disoriented and gentle. She missed the way his hair fell in his face when he was reading and the way he'd sigh when she pointed out his scruff was getting unbearable and even though he would pretend he didn't want to shave it, he would still do it and kiss her long and hard afterwards. She missed talking to him, because it was a lot harder to be friends with your exes than people imagined it to be, and she missed him just being there and she missed being able to turn to him and tell him about her day, about a dog she saw, about a joke she heard.

So the problem with not being with Bellamy Blake anymore was that she wished she still was and there wasn't really anything she could do about it, unless they were suddenly on the same page (or in the same country) again.

The other problem was that wedding season was coming up and now she had to go to ten million weddings alone, and there was nothing like going to weddings in a small town without a plus one.

***

_Abigail Curtis Griffin & Marcus Kane request the honor of your presence… _

The mint green dress her mom had picked out for her wasn’t exactly her favorite shade, but it had a nice skirt and fit nicely on her frame. Out of the entire wedding, that was the nicest thing Clarke could come up with as she waited by the bar for someone to return with a drink. It wasn’t that she disliked Kane — they got along well — but she wasn’t thrilled about her mom remarrying, and even though it had been nearly a decade since her dad died, she was probably going to resent the idea of it forever.

But Clarke had a long history of pasting on a smile and she’d made it through the ceremony without letting anyone know her true feelings about this. And now she just hoped she could get tipsy enough at the reception that she could actually enjoy this.

A waiter returned with her gin and tonic a minute later and she nearly downed half of it— would’ve, if someone hadn’t interrupted her.

“I knew I’d find you here.” It was smooth and charming, with a dash of nervousness, and most of all, familiarity. It sent a spark down her spine. Clarke couldn’t stop the smile that appeared almost instantly, as soon as her mind registered that it was Bellamy speaking, and she turned around and blinked at him. She clutched the glass in her hand.

“Hi,” she said, managed, before her eyes flickered all over him, taking in his well-pressed suit, his gray tie, the hair that was too long for her taste, the beard he’d grown over the year.

“Hi,” he returned. She noticed his eyes doing the same and flushed under his attention, just like she always had.

They fell silent after that and Clarke scrambled for something to say. Everything she’d planned to say when she saw him again seemed to vanish at the worst moment. Instead, what she said was, “Drink?” as she held out her own drink. She jerked it back when she realized what she’d done.

It broke the ice, though, because Bellamy swept her up into a hug and it was tight and comforting and the _same_. His laugh rumbled in his chest and into her ear and she tried not to shiver as he buried his face in her shoulder. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, missed him so _much_ at that moment it hurt a little. “I’ve got one back at the table, don’t worry," he said against her skin, "I’d never stand in the way of you and gin.”

She rolled her eyes. “You get kicked out of a bar _one_ time…”

“That was a really nice place, Clarke.” Even the way he said her name felt like something slotting back into place.

“A really nice place without _gin_? Who’s ever heard of that before?” she scoffed, and it was only then that they broke apart with a shared, quick grin, and this was exactly what she’d imagined. Light conversation, falling into their old banter, remembering why they were _Bellamy and Clarke_. Whereas each of her previous post-breakup conversations had been terrible, given that each of previous relationships had ended poorly, to say the least, this was so _normal_. "When did you get back? Why didn't you let me know?"

"Didn't really know where we stood," he said sheepishly and she understood. "But a few days ago. Thought maybe I'd just barge right in."

"I'm glad you barged, then." Taking another look at him again, Clarke made up her mind. They could talk about everything later. Tomorrow, probably, because she was going to kiss him by the end of the night and then take him home. It was a good plan. She was good at plans.

“How’re you doing?” He asked, his eyes catching on her mom and Kane dancing in the center of the hotel ballroom. “With all of this, I mean.”

“It could be worse,” she said wryly. “My mom and I haven’t fought all day, I’ve only almost spilled a drink on this dress, and somehow they let _you_ in here—”

“Kane’s doing, I think.”

“I like how you wrote off my mom so quickly.”

“You know better than anyone that she never liked me.”

“What do you think was your appeal?”

He made a face at her and she giggled. The song that was playing was winding down and she made another decision at that moment. After taking another drink, she rushed out: “Do you want to dance?”

Bellamy hesitated for a moment and then looked behind him. “Yeah,” he finally said, “just— hold on a second. Let me…” He was gesturing to a table and she nodded, confused.

Her aunt approached her then, asking her a question that distracted her from Bellamy momentarily. He smiled at her, stepping back, pointing towards the general floor so she knew to expect him out there. She nodded, turning her attention back on her aunt Carol, who went on and on about petunias, as if she was blind to the fact that she was trying to get back together with her ex.

There was only so much interest she could feign in the topic at hand, partly because she _had_ no interest in it and partly because she had her eye on Bellamy. He had made his way to his table and was now talking to a brunette woman, vaguely familiar, who looked up at him with a quizzical look that faded when he ducked down and kissed her on the mouth.

Clarke’s ears started ringing, her fingers tingling, her heart plummeting. She was rude in her excuse to leave, offering nothing but a muttered _sorry_ to her aunt Carol, and she was operating on autopilot as she wove her way out of the ballroom.

She was so _stupid_.

*

Bellamy found her twenty minutes later, sitting on the bench outside the hotel, staring at the streak of dirt that now marked her mint green dress. She was blinking back tears and when he called out her name, she shuddered. She didn’t answer until he sat down next to her. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, changing his mind at the last second.

“Hey, what’s up? I was looking for you on the dance floor, but you weren’t around—” Bellamy paused, waiting for an answer, but she said nothing. “I promise I’ve gotten better at dancing. I can waltz properly now.” His attempts at levity went unanswered, and that was when he frowned, tone shifting. He was worried now, even though he had no _right_ to be worried. “Hold on, did something happen? Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond to any of his questions. She only wanted to know one thing. “Were you ever going to tell me?” Clarke asked, her face angled down, unable to trust herself not to cry as soon as she met his eyes.

“Tell you what?” Judging by the almost too quick to be noticed pause, he knew what she meant. Of course he did.

“Don’t do that.”

He sighed — a cross between his normal one and his frustrated one. “It isn’t a big deal, okay? It’s been a year — and _we’re_ ,” he meant _them_ , “not—”

Of course they weren’t. He’d said _a break_ but they both knew it wasn’t that. Clarke was the one who had foolishly hoped.

“Were you ever,” she interrupted, whipping her head up, voice dangerously stony as she saw the apology in his face, heard the defensiveness in his voice, “going to tell me?”

It was written all over his face. Bellamy had always been so expressive.

Clarke breathed out, shaky and hurt. “So you were just going to lie to me. How long did you think it was going to last?” she bit out.

“I was going to tell you,” he said, pleaded. “But I didn’t know how to and I wasn’t thinking about it when it was so nice to see you again, I didn’t think you’d care about it, it’s been a _year_ so I thought maybe—”

“You brought her to my _mom’s wedding_ and thought I wouldn’t care.” Clarke bunched the skirt of her dress into her hands. “Even though I hadn’t seen you in _forever_ and hadn’t _spoken_ to you in the same amount of time. You thought I wouldn’t _care_ that you replaced me so easily?”

“I didn’t _replace_ you—” Bellamy protested instantly. “Echo isn’t your _replacement._  We connected in Berlin and I didn’t mean to invite her but it happened and I couldn’t get out of it but I never meant to—”

"Echo Azgeda?” There was a very slim chance that it was her, but who else could have a name like that?

"Yeah, what—"

"That Echo?”

“Yeah, I—”

“The same person who tried to get me kicked out of college."

"That was forever ago," but he sounded like he knew it was a weak excuse, because it _was_. As her freshman year roommate, Echo had been the worst kind of roommate: inconsiderate of anyone else's needs, constantly overstepping, loud when she was trying to sleep or study, pushy and prying, and apparently possessed by a quest to make her life miserable. It was Clarke's spite that had kept her there, and then ResLife, who had told her that it was too late to make any moves. Freshman year _sucked_ and Bellamy knew that.

"Right," she said dully. "So it definitely doesn't matter."

"Clarke, I didn't mean it like that."

 _I waited for you_ , she thought, despaired. _I thought you’d want me again._

“I don’t want to be here,” she said instead, almost as a non sequitur.

“Clarke—”

“I _can’t_ be here,” she corrected, standing up and avoiding eye contact. She could feel the sting of tears and didn’t want to, _couldn’t_ embarrass herself more than she already had. “Welcome back, Bellamy. Have a good night.”

Bellamy caught her wrist and stopped her from taking a step. “Clarke, please. Let me explain.”

“You met a girl. You’re dating her. What else is there?” She hated how bitter she sounded.

"I really wasn't trying to hurt you," he tried.

 _But you did_.

"You didn't," she lied and it didn't even sound believable. "It was just a surprise." Gently easing her wrist from his grasp, Clarke looked over at Bellamy, regretting it when she saw the look on his face. She would forgive him anything with the look on that face.

"Don't do that."

“Well, I’m not in the mood to fight with you, Bellamy.”

“Who’s fighting? We can talk about this. I _want_ to talk about this.”

"And I don't, so if we've got that settled, then—"

"Why does this even _matter_?" She didn't know what to say. She didn't know why he didn't _know._

"It just does," she offered, a pathetic answer reflecting a pathetic person. "Are we done here?"

“No, because that's not an answer," he retorted.

"I already said I'm not fighting with you."

"I think we should fight!" He stood up, pacing around the bench until he was opposite her. The distance acted as a safeguard. Clarke wanted to cry, and scream, and shout at him until she couldn't anymore, but that was only going to make it worse. What she really wanted was to go home and get into bed.

She shook her head at him, her sign that she was stopping. "We've always been able to tell each other anything, right?"

"Yeah."

Clarke smoothed down her skirt and faked a smile. "Can you please accept that I can't talk to you right now? That it's been a long day and I can't do this with you."

Judging by the look on his face, he couldn't, but he was also Bellamy, or still Bellamy, and he knew what she needed. However, it didn't stop him from asking, “So when can we talk about this?”

 _Never_ , she hoped.

“I don’t know."

“We said we’d never walk away angry at each other,” he said. His fingers itched to hold onto her hand again.

“Yeah," almost incredulously, "when we were in a _relationship_."

“So just because we’re not together anymore, we can just avoid talking about—”

“Are you mad at me?” Clarke cut in.

“No, but—”

“And I’m not mad at you.” Not more than she was mad at herself, at least. “Besides,” she swallowed, “I'm really glad you're back."

Skepticism stained his features, but finally, the fight in his shoulders left and he was resigned when he said, “I'm sorry I kept it from you. I'm sorry about… everything.”

She shook her head. "I know you are. I'm gonna head inside. Pictures and stuff."

Bellamy looked like he was going to protest, but he stopped himself. She was glad, because there was no way they weren’t going to get into a knock down, drag out fight and she was only half in the mood to do it. "I'll catch you before I go?"

"If you can drag me away from the clutches of my family," she joked.

"I'll try my best," he said with a slow, hesitant smile. The tension still filled the air between them, but it lifted a little, dissipating into something manageable, something they could both ignore if they wanted.

Clarke returned the smile, deciding to focus on that smile and not on the fact that she had been so dumb, so presumptuous to think that nothing would change in the year and a half he'd been gone, that they could just be the same people again. She barely knew anything about his time away. How could she have been so stupid?

"Don't stay out here too long," she said. "You know how cold it gets at night."

"It hasn't been _that_ long."

"Yeah, but you're getting up there in age, and I don't really know how—"

" _There_ you are," another voice called out and both Bellamy and Clarke turned in the direction of the intrusion. Echo was taller than the last time she'd seen her, but she hadn’t changed much else, including the air of derision around her. It was clear from the second she started walking towards them. Clarke made the comparisons, but took a petty pleasure in noting the uncertain look on her face. "Clarke," she acknowledged.

"Echo."

"Congratulations. For your mom."

"Yeah," she said. "Thanks."

It was _awful_.

"What are you doing out here?" This came from Bellamy.

"You said you were going to the bathroom."

"I took a detour."

"And you didn’t think you should—"

"Hey," Clarke said suddenly, backing away from the two of them. "I've gotta head inside. It was nice to see you."  Echo didn't say anything and she was glad.

Bellamy stood up. "I'll talk to you later?"

Clarke nodded, turning on her heel and making her way towards the entrance. She didn't want to look back and see the two of them together. She didn't want to talk to Bellamy Blake and she didn't want to think about Bellamy Blake.

Her mom materialized out of thin air the second she entered the ballroom again. "Where have you _been_?" she hissed.

"Out," she said.

"I don't have time for this, Clarke. We've been waiting for you for twenty minutes."

Before she could apologize, her mom pulled her along and she was kind of glad for the distraction.

***

_We’re getting married! See you May 19!_

Clarke wanted the record to show that given the _choice_ , she wouldn't have _chosen_ to be at Octavia Blake's wedding. She didn't like Octavia and Octavia didn't really like her. They'd gotten along when they were younger, but it was one thing to be friends in elementary school, but a completely different thing to be friends in high school. They shared very little of the same interests and their personalities just clashed. For Bellamy's sake, Clarke tried to keep her dislike of Octavia under control. If the topic came up, she tried her best not to engage. When Clarke started dating Bellamy, and it was impossible to be in a room with her for more than ten minutes, she tried to steer them away from Octavia-likely places. And because it was his baby sister's wedding, Bellamy was bound to be there, no matter his disapproval, because of _course_ he was going to attend his baby sister's wedding. Clarke hadn't spoken to him since her mom's wedding, had ignored and rejected his calls, had avoided all the spots she knew he'd be. Aside from the initial calls, though, he hadn't tried to seek her out, and that hurt more than she wanted to admit.

(Fine, she could've declined the invitation but there were several factors influencing her decision.

The first was that she hadn't _expected_ Octavia to give her an invite and seeing that it was probably issued as a challenge, she couldn't not go. She didn't want her to _win_ , after all.

The second was that Octavia was marrying a guy that she had only known for five months and she _needed_ to see that happen with her own eyes.

The third was Bellamy, but she wasn’t going to get into that.)

Henderson Pavilion was packed. The bride and groom had clearly spent more time planning the reception than the ceremony, which had unfortunately been an uneventful affair, with no one realizing that maybe this was going too fast, and with Bellamy sitting stoically in the front row. From her spot in the tenth row, next to Monty and Raven, she saw that the back of his head had barely moved during the entire thing.

Unfortunately, a few too many drinks had led her to the bathroom, where the sounds of her vomiting had deterred anyone else from entering her space. She felt awful and gross and her nice blue dress was now ruined and she couldn't even get up from the floor.

That was where and how Bellamy found her, as if her day couldn't get worse. His voice, deep and concerned, asking, "Clarke? You okay?," her subsequent groan indicating that she absolutely wasn't, his footsteps taking him closer to her, his kneeling down and resting a hand on her back, rubbing it in soothing circles.

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked Raven where you were and she said you'd gotten sick and wouldn't let anyone near you."

"That includes you," she mumbled, leaning closer to to him, involuntarily. He pulled her closer, eventually gathering her into his arms.

"I've got water when you're ready for it." He set a bottle down next to the wall.

She nodded against his chest, eyes closing briefly and breathing him in. "How's the new Mrs. Troi Icago?"

"She's doing just fine," he said, the tension in his words only evident because she'd known him for so long.

“And _married_.”

“And…” she could hear the grimace in his next word, “married. Yeah.”

"I can't believe she's _married_. She's 22! She doesn't even know the guy." Half of it was muffled into his chest, but Bellamy heard her just fine. This time, his annoyance didn't require ten years of friendship to understand.

"Don't tell her that. She'll think it's some grievous offense."

She snorted.

“She’s really running teenage rebellion into the ground.”

“She supposedly loves him.”

“Yeah, like I loved Katrina Bradley sophomore year and I was convinced I’d marry her.”

"And you'd known her for about two months?"

"She was really hot, Bellamy."

“Oh, right, that’s all the reason anyone needs.”

“When I was 19, it was! I could be Clarke Griffin-Bradley right now.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Why not? She was into me!”

"Because I would've crashed your wedding and objected."

Clarke laughed and it was like a shock to the system. What was she _doing_? What was _he_ doing? Pulling back from his hold, she frowned at him, eyes narrowed in accusation. It didn't stop her from cataloguing how he looked at that moment: a grin on his face, his tie slightly loosened, his curls matted against his forehead. He'd shaved too and he looked so much better like that.

"Where's your girlfriend?"

He straightened up. “Working.”

“She’s not here?”

“Octavia… wouldn’t let her come.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t really… like her.”

Clarke’s sharp laughter _was_ involuntary.

“What?”

“Nothing, just…” she laughed again, more delighted than she probably should be, “I didn’t think we’d ever have anything in common again.”

“That’s not fair.” The muscle in his jaw clenched.

“It’s plenty fair, I think. More than fair, even.”

“You don’t _know_ her now. She’s changed and—”

“Oh, spare me,” Clarke scoffed. “You’re really going to plead her case to me? Remember when she stashed that bottle of vodka in our fridge and blamed it on me and I was almost put on disciplinary probation? Or when she _ruined_ my art project? When she deleted all of my files off my laptop, you were ready to fly to LA and strangle her, but now she’s _changed_ and I don’t _know_ her?”

He didn’t answer because he knew she was right. Then, in a low voice: “That’s really rich coming from you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Lexa sabotaged your fellowship application and what’d you do?” Bellamy didn't wait for her to answer. “Oh yeah. Forgave her and got back together with her.”

There was a lump in her throat. He was going to throw that in her face? “Fuck you, Bellamy.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“That was different.”

“It’s different how? Because it was you?”

“Because they’re completely different situations!” She hissed, pointing a finger into his chest.

He scoffed. “You know, she was pretty shitty to me too. I _never_ said a word about that. I never judged you for dating her.”

“I _always_ defended you. I never thought that was okay!” Did he think she’d just stood by while Lexa made those comments? Did he think she endorsed them? “And you didn’t judge me? You absolutely did. I _know_ you. You hated it.”

“Everyone hated it,” he said, nearly sneering. “She turned you into your worst self.”

“I _know_!” She burst out, “I know it was a bad relationship, I know I shouldn’t have done it! That was four years ago and I wouldn’t do it again, okay? Why does it even matter now?” Her bottom lip was trembling. “Echo is— I _hate_ her. Why did it have to be her?”

“I didn’t do it as some kind of… convoluted plan to hurt you, okay?” His frustration fizzled out. “It just… happened. Look, it’s not like I saw her and just decided, oh hey, let me fuck the girl who made my best friend’s life hell, that’s a great idea! I didn’t even like her for a long time! But she isn't like that anymore and I’m really tired of having to repeat myself.”

In a softer tone, meant to be reassuring, she knew, although it _wasn’t_ , he added, “I know this is— well, weird is probably an understatement, but it’s the only way I can really describe it, for us because of our, our history and I should’ve told you.” He paused, regret clouding his eyes. “I should’ve handled a lot of things better than I did, but I can’t go back and redo it and I don’t know how to change that now.”

She was nauseous again, wishing that she was back to clutching the toilet. Clarke slumped back against the wall and pulled her knees up against her chest, resting her head on them. The skirt of her dress stuck to her skin. She looked over at Bellamy, who kept her gaze. She wondered how they’d gotten to this point and how much longer she was going to live with it. They were talking themselves into circles, neither of them willing to yield, neither of them looking for a compromise. It was a terrible idea, but she didn’t care.

In a whisper, she said, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I waited for you,” she confessed, her voice thick and quiet. “The entire time.”

She missed the sharp intake of breath Bellamy took, as well as the widening of his eyes, and continued, undeterred. “It’s so stupid,” she said with a mirthless laugh. “I thought— once you came back, we could pick up where we left off. Like I thought nothing would change. So that’s why I’m so upset. And… I don’t know, maybe I would’ve taken it better it wasn’t her, but also it isn’t me, so I can’t really imagine I’d like it any more than I do now.” She sniffed and blinked back tears. “I thought you’d do the same thing but that was, that was presumptuous, wasn’t it?”

“Clarke...”

“Because we never discussed it. And you were gone for so long. You had no responsibility to wait.” Hearing it said out loud jarred her back to reality. Horrified, she tried to control her breathing as she said, “Oh God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected that from you.” She swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’m so selfish.”

“I didn’t know,” Bellamy finally said, taken aback. He repeated it again, louder this time, like it signaled his conflict between defaulting to comfort and resisting intruding on her space. “I didn’t think you’d ever…”

“How could you have? I never told you. We probably should’ve talked, huh?” A quick flash of a smile, a joke that didn't reach her eyes. “I guess now I know for next time.”

He was silent.

The bathroom was impossible to sit in now, the heat from outside intermingling with the discomfort surrounding the two of them. She wanted to get out of there, but she also didn’t want to move, maybe didn’t know if she could move right now. She was still a little dizzy, a little drunk, a little sick, and she’d just told Bellamy everything.

He was looking at her with a look she couldn’t decipher and it saddened her to realize it. She had always been able to read his face like it was nothing.

“Can you leave me alone for a bit?” She pulled her head back up and tilted it back against the wall. Her hands folded in her lap. “You don’t have to say anything. But I’d really like to be alone right now.”

It took a few minutes for Bellamy to get up and when he did, he was still staring at her with the opaque expression. “Will you be okay like this?” He croaked out finally. She almost laughed; what a sight she must’ve made, drunk and sick in a sundress that had seen better days.

“I’ve got water,” she gestured to the bottle that had sat untouched. “I’ll be fine.”

Bellamy wanted to push, but refrained from it. “I’ll see you out there?”

Clarke nodded, waited for him to move. He was reluctant, his steps heavy, but he closed the door quietly and that was her cue to let out a quick sob, then two, and before she knew it, she was crying like she hadn’t allowed herself to in months.

*

The next day, there was a delivery at her door. It was a large order of pancakes from the diner downtown. There was a note: _Feel better. B._

Clarke didn’t know what to do with that.

***

_You’re cordially invited to Monty Green and Harper Ann McIntyre’s wedding!_

**_June 2, 2018_ **

_Ceremony 11 AM at the First Church of God_

_Reception 1 PM at The Ark_

Two weeks wasn’t enough time to really process what had happened at Octavia's wedding reception nor was it enough time to prepare to see him again at Monty and Harper’s wedding, but it was Monty and Harper’s wedding, so a rain check wasn’t possible. She'd just have to deal with it, like all adults did. It was _going_ fine, but that was before disaster struck in the form of the florist having an emergency and unable to deliver the centerpieces and no one being available to pick up the cake, which led to Harper frantically calling Clarke at 8:37 AM, clearly crying, and through the haze of sleep, Clarke agreeing to pick up the cake.

When she got to the bakery, there was a long line, exacerbated by the fact that the girl working the counter was brand new and needed to double check everything she did with someone else. It was nearly ten by the time she got the cake and five til ten when she ran into The Ark, the bar where the reception was being held.

"I'm here, I'm here, sorry, there were a lot of complications but I have the cake!" She called out, carrying the cake box with her dress draped over one arm.

"Don't worry," Bellamy answered. Clarke had to peer around the box to look at him. Depositing two centerpieces at individual tables, he looked up at her and jerked his head to the side. "You're not late or anything. The fridge is in the back."

Nodding, Clarke folded her dress against the back of a chair and passed by him to make her way to the back, carefully placing the cake box in the fridge. She took a deep breath before returning back to the main room, approaching Bellamy with a practiced ease that she hoped looked more convincing than it felt. She stuffed her hands in her back pockets. She’d seen him around, ran into him at the library and the park during her morning run, but each time, the conversation had gone nowhere. They were reduced to _small talk_. Even back when they had disliked each other, they’d had something to talk about. Yet, she couldn’t blame him, not really, because she had been the one to ruin everything.

Clarke counted to three in her head, plastering on a smile so it might help her through this. People always felt more comfortable when they could hear your smile. "So you got a call too?"

"Have _you_ ever tried to tell Monty no to something?"

"I'm pretty sure it's actually impossible."

“Maybe they targeted us specifically. Knew we couldn’t not help them out.”

“ _Or_ ,” she drew out the word, “we’re just better friends than anyone else.”

“That has to be it.”

Somehow, she laughed without thinking about it and then he laughed, his louder one melding into her slowly unfolding one. It made her relax. The tension that kept her on edge disappeared just like that. Why couldn’t it just be this easy?

Bellamy picked up another centerpiece and placed it on the table next to her.

“Hey Clarke?"

“Yeah?"

“Hi.”

“Hey."

He waited a bit before he spoke again. "I don't want it to be like this between us. The not talking and the yelling and the being angry. I don't like it and I've never liked it."

"I don't want it either."

"So," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "what can I do?"

"I don't—" Clarke sighed and leaned back against the table. There wasn't a simple answer. It wasn't a matter of Bellamy doing something and her accepting it. It was a lot of issues rolled into one, compounded by messy feelings and a difficult situation. But if it was a choice between their current impasse and being friends with him again, then there was an obvious answer. "It's just really hard for me to see you with her. Do you get that? Because of you know, my feelings or whatever, but also her. I can't ever like her. I already told you that. But," she sucked in a breath, “I can _try_? If you want me to—”

He interrupted her in an abrupt fashion. "You don't have to. I ended things with her. Last week," Bellamy said, eyes trained on her.

She hadn't expected that at all. "I— what?"

He searched for the words. "I realized you were right. For a lot of reasons, I was trying to make it work and it wasn't working because she wasn’t what I really wanted. And I didn’t _know_ that until it was too late which just resulted in me pissing a lot of people off instead."

She needed a moment. Her head spinning from the news, Clarke fought between conflicting emotions. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said— _everything_ you said,” Bellamy clarified, preempting her next question before she asked it. “And it made me think about a lot of things.”

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. He kept talking. “Mostly though, about how I was lying to myself and how when I saw you again, nothing else mattered to me.”

“Oh,” she breathed. What else could she say?

“So I told Echo that I still had feelings for you.” He was so direct about it, so open, able to say something like that without shying from it. “And she threw a few things at me, but I kind of expected that.”

There was so much to take in. At a loss for words, Clarke felt like a fish out of water, drowning in the succession of emotions she was experiencing: elation, guilt, sympathy, victory, confusion.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes lately,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And I hurt you.” A pained look crossed his face. “I couldn't, I _can't_ live with myself knowing that I hurt you.”

"It's not like you _knew_ —"

"I knew what kind of person I was getting involved with."

She let out a nervous laugh. "I don't really know how to react to this."

“That’s all right. I kind of threw a lot at you.”

“I just,” she said, “I don’t want you to do this because you feel like you _have_ to, like, like…” How could she describe it?

“Clarke,” he said, accompanied by the shadow of a grin, “I know what being in love with you feels like.”

She could say the same about him. It was reflected in his voice, the sureness and the safety, held together by the knowledge that they had each other.

"I was being unreasonable, though," she tried. "And selfish and, and _awful_ to you."

"No, you weren’t. But you _were_ right," Bellamy said simply. "We've always told each other the truth." He waited for her confirmation. She nodded mutely. "I needed to hear that."

She really wanted to rub her face but she couldn't mess up her makeup. "You're going to resent me for this."

"Only if you'd lied to me."

"Bellamy," she almost whined. He wasn't taking her seriously and when he came to his senses, he was going to _hate_ her for ruining things for him.

As if he’d read her mind, just as he’d always been able to just _know_ what she was thinking, he said, coming closer to her, tentative at first as if he was asking for her permission. She took her own steps toward him and that emboldened him. Their shoes were touching now. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

A million thoughts came to mind but she settled on, quietly and almost helplessly, “You’re in love with me?”

“I haven’t really done a great job in showing it, have I?” She shook her head. “But do you believe me?”

“I…” She _wanted_ to. She wanted a lot of things. She wanted to kiss him again and she _could_ now because he was single, wasn't he? And he loved her. He said that. She wanted to hold his hand and wake up with him and spend the day with him and flirt with him. But, and it hurt to settle on this, she hadn't seen him in a year and didn't know who he'd become in that time. He could read it on her face.

“I think I need time. You just broke up with someone and I—I have feelings for you, you know that, but I also… I want to know you again. Is that weird?” If Bellamy was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He reached out to grab her arm, his touch electric as he squeezed her elbow. _I get it_ , it said.

“It’s not weird,” he said emphatically. “I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

“I miss being friends with you.”

“Can we be friends again then?”

Her nod spoke for the both of them, but she was struck with a new idea. “And,” she said, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Bellamy, “what if—like, what if in a month, we revisit it?”

“Revisit,” he said slowly, the words curling around his tongue as he sought clarification, “our feelings?”

“Yeah. Presuming there _are_ still feelings, of course.” She was certain she would still have them, but then again, she’d made similar assumptions that had led to this whole mess. It was best to define everything now.

The corner of his mouth tugged up. “I can’t see why there wouldn’t be.”

“We’re prone to fighting,” she pointed out.

“And to making up,” he shot back.

“Maybe I developed some horrible habit while we were apart. Like nail biting.”

“Did you?”

“I _could’ve_.”

“So no.”

“It was just an example. But, you know, what do you think?”

"A month?"

"Four weeks."

"Thirty days."

"You're just making it sound longer than it really is."

He laughed and held out his hand for her to shake. "I can do a month." Amused, Clarke took a look at his hand and shook it with a sigh. They held on longer than was necessary, but neither of them pointed it out.

They were interrupted by her phone, which rang loud in the empty bar. "Oh shit," she said, "we've gotta get to the church."

Bellamy checked the time. "Meet you over there?"

"Yeah, I need to get changed first, but… save me a seat?"

"Will do," Bellamy said, smiling. "Hey—" He pulled her into a hug and it was weird for a second because it'd caught her off guard, but she sunk into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. He smelled nice and felt nice. It _could_ be that easy, she thought. She wasn't ready for it, but she was glad that they hadn't lost it completely.

"We're going to be late," she mumbled, although she couldn't quite remember why that was so bad right now.

"All right," he replied, but they stayed like that for another five minutes before he reluctantly pulled apart, waved a goodbye and left her clutching her dress and staring after him. It took her another minute before she finally changed into her dress and, feeling happier than she had in months, headed to the church to see her friends get married.

***

_Please join Costia Rivers & Lexa Wood in the celebration of their union Sunday, June 24, 2018 at 300 North Trine Way. Reception to follow. _

"Look at this," Clarke demanded, furious and brandishing the envelope to a surprised Bellamy, who was standing in the doorway carrying their Chinese takeout.

"Hello to you too," he said, plucking the envelope from her hand as he came inside and deposited the bag on the kitchen table. "What's this?"

She began unpacking the contents — shrimp lo mein, Mongolian beef, homestyle tofu, crab rangoon, two wonton soups — as she replied, through gritted teeth, "Open it."

He did, quickly scanning over the invitation, letting out a whistle. "That's… something."

"I know," she said viciously, pulling apart the chopsticks to hand to Bellamy. "She's doing this on purpose. I mean, why else would it be sent on such late notice? She _wants_ me to be mad about it, like I have anything to be jealous of? Like _I_ wasn't the one who broke up with her?"

Bellamy handed her the container of lo mein he'd already taken a bite from and she accepted it, took a portion of it, and continued with her rant. "You know what she expects me to do, right?"

"Decline to go.”

"Exactly, and I can't do that!" A poorly timed inhale of the lo mein coincided with an intake of breath that resulted in a coughing fit. Bellamy immediately began rubbing her back, holding out the water from the table for her.

(In the two and a half weeks that had passed since their informal agreement, a lot had changed. He’d told her about his year abroad, how he’d missed her, afraid that she’d forget about him but not wanting to hold her back. She’d feared that everything was different now, but it wasn’t. It was so easy to get back to their familiarity, their ease around each other.

They were back to their normal, which mostly consisted of hanging out all the time and confusing everyone with their messy line between friendship and romantic relationship. It was good, though, and necessary, and she stuck to that month rule, but she’d also be lying if she said she didn’t want to toss it away and kiss him then and there. For the most part, though, she was doing an adequate job of adhering to their plan.)

"You can definitely do that, Clarke," he said after she calmed down. She turned a glare on him. "It's not a challenge."

"It so is a challenge," she retorted, mostly because she was stubborn. "Lexa expects me to decline which means I can't and that means I have to go to this wedding alone and look pathetic while my ex-girlfriend who fucked me up for a long time gets married."

"Again, you have no obligation to go."

"Except the one made from spite."

Bellamy set down his food and picked up the invite again, turning it over, before he asked, "You're really going to go?"

"I don't want her to think that I'm upset about her getting married," she said, shrugging.

"And," he was quiet, "you're not upset. About Lexa getting married?"

"You can't be serious, Bellamy," she said with a scoff. He didn't reply. "You're serious? No, I'm not upset about her getting married. I'm only upset about her having the audacity to invite me. Bygones aren't bygones in this case! There’s definitely a rule about this somewhere." He scrutinized her for a while, as if he was ascertaining the legitimacy of her words. Finally, his shoulders relaxed.

"Sorry," he said, muttered.

She reached out a hand, tangled it with one of his. "I'm not lying."

"I know you're not." He squeezed her hand, stroking her thumb with his. "If you want, I'll go with you."

"To Lexa's wedding? You want to go?"

With a roll of his eyes, “Of course I don’t _want_ to. She’s not exactly my favorite person. But if you don’t want to go alone, then I have a solution for you. Even though it’s easier to not go at all.”

“Which isn’t an option.”

“Thus, solution.”

“She’d be so mad.”

“Even more reason for me to go.”

“Bellamy,” she laughed, kicking his shin lightly. “I’m not making you go.”

“I’m offering!”

“You’re gonna hate it! Like, even more than I’m going to hate it.”

“I think the look on her face when she sees that I’m your date will more than make up for it,” he insisted.

“Yeah? You’d be my date?”

“Well,” he faltered, “unofficially, obviously.”

She bit back a smile. “Fine,” (fondly, too much so,) “You can be my date.”

“I’m truly honored,” Bellamy said flatly, the half grin on his face the only indication that it was a joke. “Pass me the tofu.”

*

It _was_ a really bad idea, Clarke knew that. If she really wanted to keep their month agreement, maintain their boundary, as confusing as it currently was, she shouldn’t have let Bellamy offer to be her plus one.

But when she saw him in his blue dress shirt, the one she’d gotten for him a few years ago, which coincidentally matched her navy blue dress, she couldn’t remember these reasons.

“You look beautiful,” Bellamy said when she opened the door, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her cheek. She flushed.

“Nice shirt,” she replied, half as cool as she wanted it to sound. She grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the doorway and towards his car.

(And she _was_ selfish, but she didn’t think that was a bad thing anymore.)

*

“You don’t think she would poison our drinks, right?” Bellamy asked, warily staring at the empty glasses that sat in front of them. Clarke fanned herself with her hand. The reception, like the ceremony, was taking place in Costia’s backyard, which meant the hot sun was beating down the back of her neck. She regretted wearing a dark color.

“No, _she’d_ never do that,” he waited for the follow up, “but she’d have someone _else_ do it for her.” There it was.

“So I just shouldn’t drink anything? Even though I’ll die of dehydration before we can go home?” Clarke giggled and tossed him a bottle of water.

“I can’t promise she didn’t tamper with this, but I’m pretty sure it’s safe.” He grabbed it from her, allowing her to turn her attention to the rest of the guests. She remembered some of them, friends of Lexa who had never warmed up to Clarke, saw Titus, Lexa’s weird uncle who had always regarded her with suspicion, even waved at Anya, with whom she had actually gotten along.

The heat was unbearable, though, and she fanned herself again, stopping only when she yelped, nearly jumping out of her chair, at the sensation of ice against her neck. It was just Bellamy, who had pressed the bottle against her skin. Aside from the initial shock, she welcomed the cold. She could _feel_ the sweat between her boobs.

“This is actually why I wanted you to come along,” she teased.

“You didn’t even want me to come,” he corrected, “but at least you're admitting this was a good idea now."

"The only thing I'm admitting is that it _was_ pretty satisfying to see her glare at you earlier," she said primly.

"I expected her to throw me out herself. I’m disappointed she didn’t even try, actually."

"Guess she doesn't hate you as much as you thought she did. Are you going to be okay with that? Are you feeling faint?" Clarke pressed the back of her hand against his cheek, grinning  when he tried to wiggle out of the way. "Will I need to call an ambulance?" Her other hand reached over to press against his neck and he was laughing as she continued, getting to her feet and trying to chase him while he tried to stop her, reaching for her hands, eventually grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off her feet. She squealed in between her laughter, gasping for breath as he spun her around. " _Bellamy!_ " she laughed, not caring if they were causing a scene because everyone else was loud too and they were in the corner of the backyard. Bellamy didn't seem to care about it either, setting her down, twirling her around so she was facing him. His grin was contagious, or maybe hers was, because neither of them could stop grinning at each other like idiots.

"Hey," he said, slightly breathless. She was all too aware of his hand on the small of her back, his other hand resting on her hip. She didn't want him to let go.

"Hi," she said, one hand curled around his bicep.

"So… come here often?"

A laugh escaped, overwhelming her enough that she had to hide her face in his chest.

Lexa chose that exact moment to make an appearance, notified by a clearing of her throat that sounded like it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get their attention.

"Lexa," Clarke said, disentangling herself from Bellamy, not because she wanted to but because it was probably rude not to. It was Lexa’s wedding, after all."Congratulations again."

"Thank you," Lexa said, her eyes moving between the two of them. Bellamy still had a hand on her back. "I wanted to check up on you two. Thank you for coming."

Clarke answered before Bellamy could say anything, "Well, of course. I wouldn't miss it." She felt Bellamy's thumb dig into her skin and she tried not to squirm.

The raised eyebrow she received in return made it obvious Lexa didn't believe that, but she didn't say anything further about it. Her sharp focus shifted to Bellamy. "I heard about your fellowship. That must've been… exciting."

"It was." A pause, then, "Thanks."

"And," Lexa's eyes swept over the two of them again, "how's your girlfriend? What was her name again? It was something strange."

Bellamy stiffened beside her and Clarke shot Lexa a look, one that she saw but ignored anyways. "We're not together anymore. So I wouldn't know."

“I wasn’t aware of that.” A thin smile spread across her face. It didn’t reach her eyes. “My apologies.”

His hand flexed across Clarke’s back and she arched slightly to let him know she was with him. “I didn’t know you were so interested in my life.”

“You _are_ a guest at my wedding.” Lexa offered easily, though she looked disapprovingly at Clarke when she said it.

That was a sign she needed to stop whatever fight was inevitably going to happen. “Lexa,” she said, “can I talk to you?”

“Of course.” She inclined her head away from their table. “I’ll introduce you to Costia.”

Wary, Clarke stepped forward, grabbing Bellamy’s hand for a brief second before following her. Costia was sweet, and calm in a way similar to Lexa, and Clarke was genuine in her well wishes. She hadn’t had feelings for Lexa for years by now and she had nothing to prove.

“What was that back there?” They were walking along the edge of the backyard, close to the house.

“Conversation. You brought Bellamy here?”

“Great observational skills.”

“I’d heard you’d broken up,” she said, “and that he was dating someone new.”

“How do you even kn— you know what, never mind. He’s not. And we’re not either because we’re friends.” Friends was too simple of a label to apply to whatever they were, but she wasn’t about to get into it there. “Even if we were more, it wouldn’t be your business. Can’t you hate each other in peace?”

“If you hadn’t flaunted whatever you two are at my _wedding_ , I would’ve been much happier to do so.” Clarke felt a wave of embarrassment but before she could apologize, Lexa spoke again. "You're too good for him, Clarke, and you know it."

"Wow," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes, "it's like it's 2014 again. I'm definitely avoiding any major hair decisions this time."

Lexa didn't appreciate that, but Clarke was sick and tired of this. She'd heard it all before and it was ridiculous the first time around as it was this time around. "If that's all you wanted to say, I'm walking away and whether or not I'm with Bellamy is still, like always, not your business. He's a good guy. Just because you don't like him doesn't mean he's not." With pursed lips, Lexa's disapproval could've been observed ten feet away, but Clarke had been serious. She wasn't doing this. She said goodbye and turned on her heel, finding Bellamy still at their table, but now engaged in a conversation with Lexa's coworker, Luna. The closer she got to them, she could pick out pieces of their conversation. New age healing, crystals, and the apocalypse — Clarke stifled a giggle as she sat back down, brushing a kiss on Bellamy's cheek. He looked over with surprise.

"Hi Luna," she greeted, "I haven't seen you in a while."

"It's been a few years, hasn't it?"

She liked Luna; she was a smart, capable woman, even if she never really understood her interests and hobbies. "It's been too long. We should catch up sometime?"

"I'm having a get together with some friends next week if you and your boyfriend wanted to come."

"My _boyfriend_ ," she teased, "and I might be persuaded to make it." Luna nodded and stood up, making her apologies before walking away.

Bellamy's amused voice came close to her ear. It made her shiver a little, her eyes fluttering at the sound. "You've got a boyfriend I don't know about?"

"I think," she pretended to mull it over, "it's just you."

All of a sudden, he cupped her cheek, turning her head so that they were face to face and a hair’s breadth apart. “Really?” He asked, eyes searching.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Wanna get out of here?”

He pulled her up, linking their hands together, and started tugging her away from the table. Clarke giggled, giddy, like she was back in high school and Bellamy was a boy she liked and they were going to fool around behind the bleachers. They made it to his car, parked across the street, in record time and she was thrumming with excitement, antsy with want. He pushed her gently against the passenger side of the car, his mouth on her neck for the quickest of seconds before he pulled back, drawing a frustrated groan from her mouth.

“It hasn’t been a month yet,” he reminded, concern in his words. “I don’t want to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

She grabbed his face, framed it with both hands. "I waited for you for a _year and a half_. I'm done waiting."

The mention of their time apart seemed to distract him; his face clouded over with an observant guilt and they didn't have time for that. Clarke pressed her body against his, grinding slow. His eyes closed as he inhaled sharply. “Do you want me?”

He sounded _wrecked_ when he answered, his gaze direct, “I always want you, Clarke. I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t remember when I wasn’t in love with you.”

None of this was news to her, but in another way, it was. The Bellamy of two years ago had said the same thing, but this was a different Bellamy, a new Bellamy even, and this was the Bellamy she was in love, or still in love, with.

“Show me,” she said.

It wasn't like their first kiss, which had been slow and shy and sweet, both of them wondering if this was going to ruin everything. Clarke remembered that kiss very clearly and this time, when Bellamy captured her mouth with his, she could say that it was nothing like that. It was heated, it was desperate, it was desire. It was in the way he licked into her mouth, the way she opened for him; it was how his hand burned against the back of her neck and the way it moved down her back, over her arms, gentle and yearning. Clarke wanted him closer and closer; she tossed her head back so he could press insistent kisses along her neck. Her fingers curled into his hair, scratching and pulling at it, and he loved that, she could tell because he breathed out a groan into her chest that made her grind up into him again. He pushed the strap of her dress down, moving his mouth to replace the fabric and then a car honked, loud and repetitive, followed by jeering shouts and catcalls that reminded them they were in public, on the street, up against Bellamy's car.

“Oh my god,” Clarke said, locking eyes with Bellamy, whose cheeks were flushed, hair sticking up from where she had pulled it, lips swollen and red. His eyes were still unfocused and he was breathing hard. They stayed by the car for a while, calming down, with Clarke bringing Bellamy’s head to rest on her shoulder and his hands gripping her hips.

She buzzed with energy, but it eventually settled into a lazy sort of desire, a summer’s day type of lust. Later, they would fuck slowly, up against the wall of her apartment, Bellamy’s fingers curling into her, Bellamy’s mouth on her tits, Bellamy everywhere, all over, the entire time. She would come on his fingers, on his mouth, and then she’d pull him to her bedroom, get her mouth on him, tease him until he begged her to stop. She’d oblige, of course, because he’d _asked_ so she would ride him fast and hard, ask him to pull her hair, and he’d do it because he loved that but would never do it unless she said so. He would tell her he loved her again and then he’d come and she would kiss him, slow and sensuous. He’d pick a way to drive her over the edge again.

“Bellamy,” she hummed, running her hands through his hair. It was getting long again. “Let’s go home.”

***

 **_WHO_ ** _: You and plus one_

 **_WHAT_ ** _: Murphy and Emori’s DESTINATION WEDDING_

 **_WHEN_ ** _: April 20-25, 2019_

 **_WHERE_ ** _: HAWAII_

**_RSVP & SAVE THE DATE!_ **

“How in the hell,” Bellamy groused, pulling his tie through the loop, “did Murphy manage to get married?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. He still has to remember to say I do.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned. “I can't tie this tie.”

"Come here," she said, pulling him to a stop and taking his tie into her hands, quickly making work of it and patting his chest as she tucked it under his jacket. "I think the better question is how did he afford to pay for our trips here? That was a nice hotel too. Should we be worried that we're in the middle of some scheme?"

"Probably." A sigh, then, "Do we have to go?"

"You're in the wedding party."

"I owed him a favor, which he was supposed to use on something like giving him a ride to work or picking up his kid from school, not be in his wedding.”

“Hey, blame the guy who couldn’t make it,” Clarke said. “Maybe _he’s_ part of the scheme.”

That garnered a laugh from him and he leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll try to find out for you, okay?”

“That’s all I ask for,” she said, finding his hand with hers. “If you really don’t want to go, I’ll just pretend I’m sick.”

“No, I’ll go, but you’re the best, you know that, right?”

“It doesn’t hurt to hear it every now and then, hey—” Clarke broke into laughter as Bellamy grabbed her face, peppering kisses all over her, and she folded into his arms, ignoring the looks they were receiving from the other people heading to the rehearsal dinner.

A throat cleared near them. "If you're done making everyone _nauseous_ right before dinner," Miller said loudly, "then I'd like to head inside."

"Are we done, Bellamy?"

He caught her for a real kiss. "I think I'm done now," he declared after they broke apart.

Miller faked a gagging noise. "You guys are insufferable together." He thought for a second, weighing some options in his head. "But it's better than watching you two making sad faces at each other because you _weren't_ together."

"Hey," Clarke said, lips curling into a smile. " _I_ wasn't the problem. _He_ came home with a girlfriend."

"Who's here tonight."

Bellamy groaned against her hair. He'd been reminded of that every two weeks since they'd received the invitation.

"What're the odds on her trying to kill you tonight, man?" The glare Bellamy sent Miller was dark, but it didn't phase him. He snickered, deliberately knocking into Bellamy's shoulder as he went into the room.

"I'm sure she won't kill you," Clarke said dutifully. "I'll distract her with something shiny."

"I'm really glad you're delighting in this," Bellamy grumbled, but he kissed her temple so he couldn't have been that mad.

She snaked her arm around his body, pulling him towards her, smiling before she kissed him again. "I'm the one you're here with. That's all that really matters to me." He caressed her cheek.

"I love you," he said. His eyes were bright, sincere, open, honest, and beautiful. No matter how many times they’d told each other those words, and it had been often — in the morning, groggy with sleep, when she came by for lunch, when he passed her the salt at dinner, right before they fell asleep— it always felt like this. Like it was theirs.

"I love you too,” she said, even though it went without saying.

*

“Well,” Clarke began, an exhausted, wry smile on her face as she stared out at the beach. With Bellamy’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders, the two of them sat under the canopied area, mostly alone apart from the few others who had stayed to nurse their wounds. “At least they both managed to say I do.”

Bellamy cast a look at her, trying to appear unamused, but unable to fight a smile. Her gaze narrowed in on the cut near his brow and she frowned as she examined it. “I’m going to kill him,” she said, remembering how Dax had launched himself at Bellamy earlier, clocking him in the face before Clarke had intervened, getting Miller to help her pull him away. Bellamy had been trying to break up the sudden fight that had erupted between Dax and Sterling and now he had a bruise blossoming on his cheek, a split lip, and the cut on his brow. For her part, her magenta dress had survived, but her arm was a little sore.

“He’s not worth it,” Bellamy said, nudging her ankle with his foot. “Thank God he saved the fighting for after the wedding, though.”

“Considerate guy, that Dax.” Her frown deepened. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Do I not look okay?”

“You’ve got a bruise that’s gonna hurt really bad in a few hours.”

“But aside from that.”

Exasperated, she berated, “Bellamy.”

“I’m fine. I feel fine, the fight’s over, and I’m sitting here with you. We’re all good.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to detect any hint of a lie, but he _was_ fine, even if he didn’t look completely fine at the moment. “Okay,” she accepted. “But let’s avoid fights at weddings from now on, all right?”

“At least we can check that off our list.”

“Only _we_ would run into a _fight_ at a _wedding_. Are we cursed?”

He laughed, loud and unbridled, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Something like that, I think.”

“Promise me when we get married, we’re banning all fights,” she said.

“And exes,” Bellamy added, raising an eyebrow.

“And destination themes!”

“And our families.”

“And friends.”

“Are we eloping?”

“Don’t cross that off the list.”

“I’ll keep it on.”

In lieu of a response, Clarke leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He immediately, like he always did, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and they sat like that, staring out at the beach, lit under the moonlight, for a while. They hadn't had the opportunity to just enjoy themselves like this lately; the last few weeks had been so busy, filled with work and publication and deadlines that the most they saw of each other was the quick good morning/good nights they wished each other. That was just the nature of their schedules. But sitting here with Bellamy, with deadlines behind them, with how easily they could talk about marriage, how easily it had become so quickly, Clarke was suddenly very glad that Murphy had decided to get married.

Bellamy interrupted her thoughts, his voice muffled into her hair. "I'm serious, you know."

"About?"

"I want to marry you one day." It was achingly simple, a truth that they'd both confronted and both wanted.

"When that day comes," Clarke said, resolute, "I'm absolutely going to marry you."

***

+1

_to have and to hold, from this day forward_

In exchange for the small wedding they wanted, they had agreed to throw a big reception. In the end, what it came down to was Abby offering to pay for the party. It would stop her from trying to intrude on their wedding planning and they could, they thought, live with having guests they didn't know that well at the reception. But there were so _many_ , all of whom Abby seemed to know and brought to introduce to them, and then Octavia almost broke someone's nose, and they had hardly spent more than ten minutes alone since they arrived. It wasn't the reception Clarke had envisioned at all.

She was _allowed_ to hide for a bit. It was her wedding day, she was allowed to do anything she wanted.

Of course, Bellamy found her ten minutes into her escape, a smile smoothing over his concern the second he saw her.

“Thank God we’re already married because I’d think you were running away,” he said.

Stabbing her fork into her cake, she savored the bite before she gestured for him (her _husband_ now) to join her. “I _knew_ this was good cake. That’s why we chose it.”

“You came in here to eat some cake?”

"Bet you're glad you married a genius,” Clarke said around a forkful of cake, making room for Bellamy on the chaise lounge bench. He swiped his finger through the icing.

“I am glad, but I thought maybe my genius wife would be enduring the ten million people at our reception with me.” She thrilled at the sound of _my wife_ and hoped that it’d never go away.

“I _can’t_ anymore, Bellamy,” she groaned, “it’s too much. I can’t even think properly.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, kissing her shoulder. “I was about to hide in here too.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“Hey, our wedding was _great_ ,” Bellamy interjected, offense in his tone.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t disagree. It _was_ great. Everything went perfectly. She’d entered the church and locked eyes with Bellamy at the end of the aisle and nothing else mattered. She barely remembered the entire ceremony, just the vows that had made her cry, the slide of the ring onto her finger, and the way he’d kissed her. It was perfect. “Our wedding was amazing, but this reception sucks.”

“Yeah, sorry about my sister,” he said a little guiltily.

“More like sorry about my _mother_ ,” she said, annoyed. “This is all her fault.”

“And the ten million people who decided they know us.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely not sending them thank you notes.” They fell into a comfortable silence, with just the noise from outside filtering into the room. Clarke could hear the distant strums of music being played and swayed to the beat. Every time she took a bite of cake, her wedding ring glittered in the light. This was perfect, she thought. If she could stay here with Bellamy all night, she wouldn’t mind at all.

When the song finished, Bellamy stood up, holding out a hand. She looked at it in question. “Clarke Griffin,” he said, “can I have this dance?”

“You can’t really hear the music from here, babe.” But she stood up anyways, setting aside the plate, while he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his music. A moment later, the first chords of the song filled the room. Placing her hand into his, he closed it into a dance hold and positioned his other hand around her back.

“See,” he said, his head leaning against hers as they swayed to the song, “this isn’t so bad.”

“That isn’t fair. You know I love this song.” She rested her head into his shoulder, her eyes closing as he took her through the steps.

“Do you?” He feigned, “I was just drawn to it for no reason in particular.”

“Ass,” she mumbled. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“We’re _married_.”

His chuckle came low in her ear. “We made it.”

“Thank God. It was enough that we were already living in sin.”

“I had to make an honest woman out of you.” Her laughter was smothered in his neck, and his in hers. When the song finished, they kept swaying as his phone rolled into another song, neither of them willing to let go.

Eventually, she sighed and pulled apart. “I guess we better get back out there.”

“Worst idea you’ve had all night.”

“I know, I know, but we’ll just sneak away again if it’s too unbearable.”

“You’re willing to let your grandma think we’re sneaking off to have sex?”

“My grandma thinks you’re hot. I think she’d approve.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Bellamy said honestly, a grimace on his face. He motioned for her to walk in front of him, and she did but she stopped before they got to the door.

“Kiss me first,” she said, looking expectantly at him. He more than obliged, turning a brief kiss into a lazy makeout that left her flustered and disheveled. “If everyone’s going to be making assumptions, maybe we shouldn’t let this room go wasted—”

“Way ahead of you,” Bellamy muttered, reaching around her to lock the door.

(When people asked her how the reception went, she waved a hand, _oh you know_ , because she couldn’t very well go into detail about _this_.)

**Author's Note:**

> (The song they dance to is left vague because no one was helping me with sappy love songs so I didn't have one in mind when I envisioned the scene, but for me, it's either God Only Knows or Because You Loved Me. Thanks Spotify. You can pick whatever song you want.)
> 
> Troi Icago is the brainchild of Ash, who, when I asked "guys, I need a weird Grounder name," delivered when it mattered most!
> 
> You can find me at ~bestivals on tumblr!


End file.
